Over The Precipice
by SophieSays
Summary: This is not the wizarding world you know. The war never ended, and now the magic community of Britain is split into two sects. One being led by Voldemort, the other by a minister who the whole world knows and trusts. Prophecies can be misleading, and problems of the past are reappearing unsolved. REVIEW!
1. Prologue

**Thanks for taking the time to read this Just so no one gets their hopes up, the main focus of this story is not on romance, and not every girl Harry meets is his true love. Noor is this story about bitter adolescent characters who feel as though the world has wronged them.**

 **Parts of this story have already been posted, but due to poor structure, we have decided to restart with a clear focus on story and narrative. It is our hope that you will enjoy this story we have created.**

 **(Disclaimer) I do not own Harry Potter or any canon characters!**

 **Happy reading to you!**

 **Prologue**

The air is thick, an appropriate setting all things considered. I walk towards the Potter's finding their house had proved to be quite difficult, being hidden by that accursed Fidelius charm. I can't help but be amused, that one of the people that they trusted most became their biggest, if not the most obvious of enemies.

Barely a whisper of wind brushes through the trees overhead, and in return the leaves rattle with their discontent at its unwelcome intrusion. Even the forsaken leaves upon the ground rustled with unease as I trespassed, crunching in the typical autumn fashion.

I had arrived at the front door now, the windows had lights in them, and I could barely hear their murmurs of conversation. What a shame they were still awake, it would have been so much simpler if they had been sleeping unaware of the events about to unfold. However, I will not wait for them, I did not come here to honor their schedule, that is the duty of all those around me, to bow down to my wishes, after all, it is me who will be ruling this world soon enough. I tried the door, it was locked. No matter; I'll just blast the damned thing in.

A large cracking sound cut through the air and splinters of wood flew through the air. And there they were, sitting in the living room talking with one another, or they had been talking, now both stared in wide-eyed shock at the remains of their once lovely door scattered around them. "I'll hold him off," James shouted as he reached for his wand, "get Harry and run!" Such courage, and all for nothing. Hold me off? What a joke, he only lasted seconds, if that. Shame, I had expected more.

Swiftly I pursued the fleeing mother, who will conveniently lead me to my prey. I find myself in what I can only assume is a nursery, littered with toys and books. Hanging over the cradle is an odd contraption, it looks like three coat hangers strung together with tiny owls hanging off of them suspended by ropes.

And there she stood, the child in her arms. At the sight of me, she dropped her son back into the crib behind her and threw her arms wide, as if this would help, as if in shielding him from my sight she somehow hoped to be chosen instead. "Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!" "Stand aside, you silly girl... Stand aside now." I said, patience running thin. "Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead—" "This is my last warning—" "Not Harry! Please… have mercy… have mercy… Not Harry! Not Harry! Please— I'll do anything—" She pleaded "Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!" I could have forced her away from the crib, but it seemed more prudent to ﬁnish them all. The green light ﬂashed around the room and she dropped like her husband, again, I had expected more. The child had not cried all this time. He could stand, clutching the bars of his crib and he looked up into my face with a kind of bright interest, perhaps thinking that I was his father who hid beneath the cloak, making more pretty light, and his mother would pop up any moment, laughing.

Pointing my wand at him, I prepare to kill the last member of their family. I indulge myself with a satisfied smirk. "Avada Kedavra!" The spell leapt from my wand, to think this silly little boy could be my equal, not that I doubt that he could have become just that, but as of now he most certainly is not.

Then I felt it, like getting punched in the gut. I struggled to stand as if I had been zapped of most of my energy. The spell had worked; the boy was even crying. Wait he was crying… it took me a second longer to fully grasp what that meant, HE WAS CRYING!? Not dead like he should have been, I was panicking, what does this mean? What did I do? What should I do?

Taking a moment to re-examine the boy, he now has a scar on his forehead, it's burning red like hot coals. I stand for I don't know how long, pondering my next move. This was not how I had intended this night to go. I needed to think of something fast, doubtless the order would be here soon, and while I had no concern about winning a fight with them I was feeling rather drained and was simply not in the mood. Thinking quickly, I had an idea, I grabbed the child and apparated away.

Elsewhere. Ravenous waves of the sea smash away at the dark cliff face attempting in vain to devour it. The sky above the waves swirled with black clouds as torrents of rain slice through the air, like little blades of ice. At the tallest point of the cliff, Voldemort appears with a crack his cloak snapping in the wind, like snakes striking at their prey. In his arms, he holds a small bundle. He stared at it as if contemplating what to do with it.

Then without any remorse, he tossed it off the cliff towards the water, and the water, in turn, waited with hungry maw, eager to consume the small child in its cold embrace. With another loud crack, Voldemort vanishes, and the only trace that either had been there, was a small owl resting on the edge of the precipice, though neither had brought it with them.

 **Thanks again for reading this! If it's not too much to ask, please take the time to review it! This is a collaboration between two writers, and any feedback helps tremendously, not only with quality but with motivation for the story! Stay tuned for more!**


	2. Chapter 1 Enter Jerome J Keg

**Thanks to everyone who has been reading this story! Chapter one is about Harry growing up, just quick little moments in his young life as told through his caretaker's point of view.**

 **(Disclaimer) I don't own Harry Potter or any Canon characters!**

 **Happy reading!**

The wind whistled fiercely outside, dark storm clouds swirling overhead blocking out all the light. Jerome J. Keg sighed as he gazed out of the front window, the weather was almost always this bad, and for some reason he liked it. Something about the storms felt right to him but he could never put his finger on it. But he suspected his dislike of being around other people was a likely cause. Looking at the storms he could not help but feel completely alone, even if that feeling was a lie. Jerome preferred isolation, and with the world, he was born into, it wasn't such a bad way of living.

It had all started going downhill about ten years ago, some group of revolutionists had started making trouble and began to gain momentum. The whole of Britain had been sent into chaos and was still in such a state. Jerome doubted very much that this group of radicals would have succeeded had they not been led by You-Know-Who. That man was ruthless and powerful, "never a good combination in a man," or that's what Jerome's father would tell him, apparently his advice was good for more than just Grindelwald. Now that Jerome was older, he wondered if his father really understood anything half as much as he acted like he did, but about ruthless, and powerful men he could not bring himself to disagree with his old man.

He missed his father, even though he had given the man more than his fair share of trouble. His dad had been a simple man who had big dreams, an idealist would be a good way to define him, and in some lapse of judgment, he had chosen to work at one of thee most hopeless places, The Ministry of Magic. He failed more than he succeeded, always missing a bill, braking the stove or missing a meeting at work, but he never let it get to him. If nothing else his father was an Earnest man. Jerome remembered what his mother said after his dad broke the car on his way home. "Darn that old goat. Someday he is goin ta show up home without his head! If he hasn't already lost it. I swear it's a marvel he is still among the living with how he's bumbling about day to day."

Shaking his head, Jerome laughed, he had mocked his father for working at the Ministry, but it seemed like it was the family curse now. Jerome worked as a Flu-System repair man nothing fancy. He started to turn from the window, but stopped. Turning back around he stared at… Nothing? No something was wrong about this storm, squinting, he tried without success to peer through the rain. He was certain that something was out there, he just had to find it… A small dark patch was on the beach, he couldn't be sure it wasn't just drift wood. He felt it again, something was definitely wrong with this storm and he knew that this darkness was not a coincidence. Rushing from the window he fuddled with an old brown rain coat, and flimsy rubber boots.

He flung open his door, and almost instantly he was pushed back by the rain, it was cold. Taking a deep breath, he forced his way out of the house, battling with the wind. The coat and boots did little to protect him from the unyielding gale, within seconds he was soaked through. The wet sand sucked at his boots, threatening to pull them off of his feet.

At last he reached the small dark shape, leaning down, he picked up the object that had drawn him out of his dry home. When he saw what it was he nearly dropped it again, buried in sopping wet blankets, was a small baby. Eyes wide he stood unsure of what to do, how had it gotten here? The child must be dead but even knowing that there was no way he would leave it here on the beach. He started walking back towards his house. Clutched in his arm the body of the small child.

Laying the limp baby boy on his small wooden table, Jerome checked for a pulse, he waited… There it was! Somehow, and he had no idea how, the boy had lived! He rushed to find a towel, and swaddled the little boy in it, and carried him over to the fire, he pulled up a chair and sat down.

Rocking the small child in his arms, he wondered how in the world it had ended up in the water to begin with, the parents were probably dead, or would be by now in this weather, it was most peculiar that this child was still alive, no it was impossible, bundled in a blanket like that? He would have sunk like a rock! The baby had black hair, and bright green eyes, looking at the boy's face he frowned, a scar in the shape of a lightning bolt was dead center on the boy's forehead, how strange but that scar was less confusing mystery of how the kid was drawing breath. Jerome Let loose a crazed grin, a grin he had not made in over twenty years, something was beginning tonight!

(One Year Later)

Why me? All I ever did was keep to myself, there must be some kind of divine comedy at work here. Me, a man who wanted to be left alone would be stuck with the only kid in the world, who was impossible to get rid of. I could have tried harder, but I don't trust the law to handle things like this, after trying one orphanage, I just gave up. I still remember the day I went to Wool's, when I had asked them about admitting a little boy, they had turned me down faster than you could shake a lamb's leg. They told me "sorry we're full." And wouldn't even give me an estimate of when they might have room. So I took him home, and I forgot to even try to get rid of him, well, if I'm being honest with myself it was curiosity that prevented me. I just had to see what fate had in store for that boy who lived. I soon realized that if I was going to keep him, the boy needed a name, and I decided on Harry, Harry J. Keg.

The divine comedy of the situation was clearly much more than Jerome had realized, by some incredible fate, Harry managed to keep his original name given to him by his parents, And Harry's middle name, well, I will leave you guessing as to what it is…

(five years Later)

"Dad, why can't we say Voldemort?" Jerome sighed at the name, they had discussed this before, but he supposed Harry couldn't remember that, he had been five when he had first asked this question. Taking a sip of tea, he watched his adopted son, and considered his words carefully. "Harry, there are magics in this world that can accomplish things beyond what you will ever see in school, so understand, when you say you-know-who's name, he can sense it. That's just part of his magic, we don't want to draw attention to ourselves, after all he is not the man you want looking right at you." Harry looked at him with wide shining eyes, hanging onto his every word, probably wondering if he himself could perform such magic. Jerome had grown to love this little boy; he had never intended to get attached, bad things happen when you get attached...

(Two Years Later)

Jerome held Harry's hand tightly in his own, he didn't like going out, but every year on Harry's birthday, he and Harry would go out for the day. Losing the child in the big crowds was a constant fear, "Harry, stay close now." He warned as they pushed through the throng. "Dad. Come on I want to see the newest racing brooms!" Harry replied clearly ignoring his warning. Jerome had a dislike of heights but harry seemed to love them. When Harry had first got on a broom (Jerome's old broom), he had instantly mastered it and he was probably better than some people who had been flying for years.

Chuckling to himself as he was dragged into " _Every Witches Brooms_ " he had never been very fond of brooms. He felt a little bad, he had refused to buy Harry his own racing broom until he was twelve. Harry would just have to manage with Jerome's old broom till then. "Um, dad have you ever seen that owl before?" Harry pointed at a small toy owl that was sitting on a shelf. Jerome shook his head, "I don't think so, why?" "It's just, I could have sworn I seen it before!" That instantly caught Jerome's attention, he stared intently at the owl upon second thought, it looked like the owl Harry had found in the sand when he was seven.

When they arrived home, Jerome went searching for the owl, but found it exactly where it had been before, tucked neatly under Harry's bed.

 **Thanks again for reading this! If it's not too much to ask, please take the time to review it! This is a collaboration between two writers, and any feedback helps tremendously, not only with quality but with motivation for the story! Stay tuned for more!**


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